Feral: Nine Tales of a Ninetales
by WatchingCircinus
Summary: Feral: Nine short tales about a ninetales. Brandy wants her ninetales to look pretty; but what does he want? And if he ends up back on the street, can he evade the mayors attempts to "rid" the city of stray pokemon?
1. Feral

Brandy pouted and folded her arms. "Can't you make her sit still?" she said to the stylist.

 _Oh god_ , thought the ninetales. _Here we go._

The pokemon stylist clicked her scissors uncertainly and reached for the ninetales, who shook his muzzle and pawed at his nose. He was sat on one of the swivel chairs, facing the mirror.

 _There_ he thought. _Just you try to cut my hair, and I'll bite you. And I'm not a goddam girl!_

"She doesn't seem to want her hair styled today," said the stylist.

 _Or any day._

"But look!" Brandy cried, "her fur is all disgusting. Can't you do something?"

"It does look a bit matted. I suppose it's from all the battling?"

"But she doesn't do any battling – she stays in the house with me, looking gorgeous."

Brandy fluttered her huge plastic lashes. It looked like two butterfrees attacking her face.

"Are you sure she doesn't go outside?" asked the stylist, lifting a particularly dirty lock of fur.

"No – only when we go for strolls down the promenade."

 _And when I sneak out under the fence._

"If you want her coat to stay glossy try to keep out of the rain," the stylist said, pointing at the mud smeared up the ninetales' forelegs.

Brandy cocked her head. "We never go out if it's raining. Ugh, my hair! Could you imagine?"

The stylist raised an eyebrow. "Well, I can try to comb it, and rub some oils into it, but I'm afraid I can't do any cutting. Your ninetales simply won't stay still."

As if to accentuate the point, the ninetales began chewing at the base of his tails. Brandy huffed and stomped around to the other side of the chair so that she was facing him. She crouched down, looking at him eye to eye.

"Listen, you brat," she said, "you're getting your hair done, and it's going to look beautiful, because you're a goddam show-pokemon. Got it?"

The ninetales levelled his amber gaze at her, his hackles rising. She wagged a finger in his face and he snarled.

Brandy looked indignant. "Don't you dare growl at me, stupid dog. You will do as I say, because you are my pokemon!"

 _A dumbass like you isn't good enough to deserve my obedience._

The ninetales opened his mouth and spat a few cinders at his trainer's face. She spluttered.

"You feral!" she cried, rising to her feet, "you best start behaving, otherwise I'll chuck you out on the street with all the other strays. I'll get myself one of those pretty Alolan ninetales instead."

 _Back on the street, where you found me_ thought the ninetales. He pictured the days spent scavenging from bins, filching cooked pidgeys from the backs of delivery vans. He started salivating at the thought.

"Ew, he's dribbling," said Brandy, looking at the stylist as if demanding she make it stop. "Why can't you be elegant and suave like the other ninetales?"

Ninetales wasn't listening. He was thinking now of nights running through back alleys, growling at tourists, urinating in the public park. _I miss those days._

"Hey," said Brandy, clicking her fingers in front of his face. "She really is stupid," she said to the stylist. "How did I end up with a dud like her?"

 _I'm a fucking boy!_

The ninetales stood up, wobbling on the chair, and loosed a blast of fire that sailed over Brandy's head, setting a shelf of shampoo aflame.

"Fire!" yelled the stylist, ducking for cover.

 _See how you like this, prim bitch_ thought the ninetales. He leapt from the chair, barrelling into Brandy's chest and knocking her to the ground. She screamed, the noise muffled by his fur as he rubbed it into her face. _Eat dirt_ he thought.

"Ew ew ew!" she screamed, as he kneaded her with his muddy paws, wiping his slobbering jowls on her face.

"Hey, over here," shouted one of the stylists, holding out ninetales' ball.

 _Shit_ thought the ninetales. Before the stylist could return him, he bounded for the door, making sure to trail his filthy tails over Brandy's clothes. She shrieked, tears in her eyes.

Ninetales looked back at the scene; the fire spreading to another shelf, the stylist crouched behind the chair dialling emergency services, Brandy desperately trying to rub the dirt of her face. He smiled.

 _No more sitting still for me. Feral life, here I come!_

And he bolted down the street.


	2. Strays

The mayor had a pouchy face and thick black bristles sticking out of his nose. Ninetales stared up at his image, reproduced ten times across the television screens in the shop window. The colour and contrast varied slightly between them: here the mayor had a slightly more purple hue; there the difference between his natural hair and his toupee was more pronounced.

 _What an ugly bastard_ thought the ninetales.

"And what are you going to do about the problem with strays?" an off-screen reporter asked him. The sound was muffled through the window, but the ninetales could hear the mayors blustering reply: "I'm going to clean up the streets! Teams of catchers will be out by the end of the day, making our city safe again."

The ninetales snorted and walked away. A kid with an ice-cream stopped to stare at him, reaching out a grubby hand, and he bared his teeth. She began to cry.

Ignoring her, Ninetales sauntered around a corner into his alley. Here was his bed; a mossy patch of bitumen, and his things; a half-gnawed bone and a dirty blanket. _Better than being with Brandy_ he thought. A low breeze caressed his matted fur.

Someone shouted from the end of the lane. Ninetales swivelled around and saw the kid with the ice-cream, her angry mother beside her. The woman held out a pokeball, swung her arm back. Ninetales stood his ground.

A rhydon materialised from the red and white static. Ninetales turned and fled.

He could hear the pounding of massive feet behind him. Skidding around a corner, he dashed up a metal fire escape, not sure where he was heading. His scruffy tails dragged along the brick wall.

In the alley below the rhydon roared. Without pausing Ninetales leapt, sailing through the air towards the next building – and fell. Air whistled through his ears, and he landed with a smack in an empty skip. The metal container rattled and before he could scramble up the sides the lid slammed shut. Darkness engulfed him. The bin had a damp, rotting-vegetable smell.

"Where'd he go, rhydon?"

The rhydon roared, stomped around. Ninetales was panting, trying not to panic.

"He can't have gone far."

Ninetales heard the sound of large nostrils sniffing the air. He tensed his muscles, ready to spring. There was a long pause in which he could hear traffic on the main road.

"Oh well. I guess the mayor's catchers will round him up soon. Come on."

There was the decrescendo sound of the rhydon being returned to its ball, and then silence.

Ninetales stood on his hind legs, splaying his tails out beneath him for balance, and pushed his head against the top of the skip. It didn't move. He gritted his teeth, shoved with all his might; still it wouldn't budge.

 _Shit_ he thought. _Shit shit shit._

He tried to steady his breathing, pacing circles in the stinky garbage juice.

 _How much oxygen is in here? Oh crap. What happens if the humans find me in the morning, and I'm not awake?_ And then the even more terrifying thought: _What if nobody finds me at all?_

There was a tiny crack of light around the rim of the bin. Ninetales stood and pressed his eyes against it, but couldn't see anything except a strip of blurry grey.

"Need some help?" said a voice outside.

Ninetales jumped, banging his head on the metal. _Ouch._ "Who's there?" he growled.

"A friend," said the voice.

"A liar," said Ninetales.

"Do you want me to get you out or not?"

Ninetales steadied himself, crouched in the corner ready to attack. "Go ahead."

The lid swung open. Ninetales blinked in the sudden sunlight. With a neat bound he cleared the top of the skip and landed on the bitumen, turning circles to find his interlocutor. The alley was deserted.

"Up here," the voice said.

Ninetales tensed, looked up, and saw a growlithe hanging over the edge of the fire escape. She had a rope beneath one paw; it's other end was tied to the skip lid.

"How did you get that open?" Ninetales asked.

The growlithe smiled. "Pulled the rope against this bar," she said, tapping the metal cage of the stairs. "Easier to lift that way, less strength required."

"You trapped me in there," growled Ninetales.

"Nothing of the sort," she cried, standing up. "Pokemon get stuck in there all the time. I help them out."

Ninetales eyed her suspiciously. "And how did you know to do that thing, with the rope?" he asked, nodding towards the skip.

"Well, not to brag, but I used to be a police dog." She wagged her plumed tail back and forth.

"Used to be?"

"Hey, let's not talk about that right now," she said, breaking his gaze and staring back down the alley.

Ninetales cocked an eyebrow. "And why's that?"

"Catchers," she said, gesturing with her chin. "Behind you."

Ninetales turned sharply. Two men stood at the end of the alley, nets in hand.

 _Shit_ he thought. _Shit and more shit._


End file.
